Chapter Forty-One
When Frances woke up, her first thought was that she had never been happier. Then, as the memories from last night slowly resurfaced, greatly aided by her complete state of undress, that feeling vacillated between dread, hope, fear, and bliss faster than she could follow.
If this was a sign that things would be different, and their marriage would be a true one, then she couldn’t imagine ever being sad again.
If, on the other hand, last night was a mistake in Nathaniel’s eyes, if she had seduced a man with a need but no desire, then she would be far worse off than before, because she now knew exactly what she had been missing.
Nathaniel wasn’t in her chambers, so she made her way to the gardens. At least she could work on something while her mind wandered, perhaps get lost in the task so nothing else mattered. One could only dream.
It was cold this morning, with a light drizzle and dampness that crept into her bones, but the tomatoes were ready to be planted, so Frances braced herself for the chill and got to work.
She didn’t know how long she’d been out, but by the time they were all replanted, she had an entire speech ready to give Nathaniel, about everything she wanted.
No, what she needed.
She was going to march into his study to tell him, explaining that Jo would have wanted him to be happy and she, Frances, made him happy.
But then her doubts returned, and she decided she would wait and see how he treated her. He wouldn’t be able to simply act like nothing happened, so however he behaved today would be her indication.
The decision made, she was suddenly very anxious to be indoors, where she might encounter him more easily. She was almost at the door when she sneezed, delaying her just long enough for Nathaniel to open it and find her.
She looked up, hoping to see love, or at least tenderness reflected in his eyes, but if his face was any indication, Nathaniel’s over-encompassing feelings were regret and anger. At himself or at her, she couldn’t yet tell.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing? Have you no sense of self-preservation? I promised I wouldn’t do such things, but if I have to, I will forbid it.”
His eyes, wide and fuming, rested on that familiar spot near her forehead.
In horror, she lifted her hand to the spot and realized she’d come out without bothering to fix her hair over the mark, leaving it in plain view.
The look of disgust on his face was enough to make her regret a great many things.
Marrying him. Falling for him. Letting him see parts of her no one else had ever seen before.
Not to mention last night. Part of her regretted it, or at least how much it had meant to her, because judging by the way Nathaniel was now looking at her, it would never happen again.
“I’ll send Sarah up with warm water for a bath,” he decided, ushering her inside before brusquely walking away, presumably in search of Sarah.
Frances was left having to take deep breaths to stop herself from crying.
Of course. She was a disfigured burden, and Nathaniel wanted nothing to do with her.
Why would he?
“You were supposed to watch her.”
Nathaniel had to search the entire house before he found Sarah in her quarters, still wearing her pelisse.
“Lady Lark?” she asked, the confusion turning to concern. “Did something happen?”
He blushed, he was certain of it. Obviously, something had happened. Everything had.
“Not yet, but it very well might.”
“My apologies, my lord, I was out. But if you tell me what’s wrong, I will—”
“You were out?” His rage, spurred by fear, almost made him snap at her, until it dawned on him. “Today is Sunday. Your day off.”
“It was, but I am glad to help, now that I am back.” She was already preparing her uniform.
“No, you deserve the day to yourself. I’ll have one of the maids do it.”
“What happened?” Sarah asked in the tone she reserved for when she was talking to the boy she grew up with, not her employer.
He sighed, knowing he couldn’t bear to tell a soul about last night, though he assumed his eldest siblings probably suspected and would be insufferable next time he saw them.
“We got rained on yesterday, and Frances was shivering, then she spent the morning outside, digging in wet, cold dirt, and now she is sneezing.”
“So a warm bath, then perhaps some tea?”
“It’s your day off,” he reminded her.
“I’ll consider it taking care of my friend rather than my mistress.”
He knew better than to argue, but he tried to sound as authoritative as possible when he told her, “You’re getting a bonus week off, with pay, and I will remove you from your position if you don’t take it.”
She looked at him like he was ridiculous, but didn’t refuse.
“By the way, Lieutenant Sutton has returned from his latest deployment. He spent the night at Wiltshire Manor, but intends to come here at your earliest convenience.”
“Please tell me you didn’t spend your day off working for—”
“Your grandmother would never let me do that. I was there as a guest of your sister’s,” she assured him, though he would bet a fortune she used the servant’s entrance.
“I remember forbidding you from working here as well.”
“You changed your mind.”
“Yes, because you insisted on working, and it was either accept free labor or force you to let me pay you.”
He still wasn’t sure if she accepted the money as her own or simply left it all in a box somewhere, but once she decided to venture off, she’d be considerably wealthy.
Frances removed her damp clothes and hated to admit that Nathaniel was right. Her chambers had never been this cold. She was huddled up against the fireplace to warm herself when Sarah arrived, followed by footmen with hot water for her bath.
She sneezed as they filled it, then disrobed to climb in the minute the men were gone.
“How are you feeling?” Sarah asked with concern.
“Freezing. Though I would hate for Nathaniel to be right,” she admitted.
“We all would.” Sarah smiled at her. “I’ll bring some tea once you’re bundled up in bed.”
“I’m not spending the day—”
“Lord Lark will insist on it,” Sarah said with certainty. “Better do it on your own than to have him make you.”
“You make him sound like a tyrant.”
“My apologies, that was never my intention.”
“Was today not your day off?” she remembered. “Miss Turner was having you over for—”
“I’ve seen Miss Turner, but now I am home and ready to take care of you.”
“I want to tell you to go to your quarters and not show your face until morning, but loath as I am to admit it, unless I can return to Mrs. Brown, you are who I most wish to see.”
“Likewise, my lady,” Sarah said after only a moment’s hesitation.
Initially, Frances resented being forced to bed.
The last thing she wanted was to be left alone with her thoughts in the room where it all happened.
To give Nathaniel that satisfaction, or to disturb Sarah on her day off.
But before long, she wanted nothing more than to be buried under the covers, where it was warm, and she could mourn the loss of her dreams in peace.
It was only when she woke up that evening, freezing and covered in perspiration, that she worried Nathaniel was truly right, and she shouldn’t have been gardening in the drizzle all morning.
“Perhaps we should change your bedding,” Sarah suggested, rising from a chair in the corner of the room.
“No, that’s not necessary. It’s so cold out there,” Frances argued, though the fire was roaring and she suspected the room was stifling and uncomfortable for anyone who wasn’t feverish.
“I know, but dry sheets will be warmer for you once it’s done.”
“What time is it?”
“You missed dinner.”
“Is Nathaniel cross with me?”
“He’s gone to fetch Dr. Collins,” Sarah said instead of answering.
“It’s just a chill.”
“All the same.”
Sarah was changing the sheets while they spoke, so she had Frances roll over onto the fresh ones while she finished the other half of the bed. Nathaniel’s half.
Sarah was right that it was warmer like this, but Frances was still freezing.
“I’ll bring you back some more tea. And maybe bread with cheese and honey?”
“Yarrow tea, if it isn’t too much trouble, but I’m not hungry.”
“You still need to eat.”
By the time Sarah returned, Frances had thrown the blankets off and was attempting to open a window. She needed fresh air, and it wouldn’t budge.
“Is there a trick to the window?”
“The lock has been jammed for ages, but I’ll gladly open it if Dr. Collins believes—”
“No, better to sweat it out,” the man in question argued as he entered the room.
Frances had been expecting Sarah, alone, but she suddenly felt terribly self-conscious and underdressed in her chemise now that it was Sarah, the doctor, and Nathaniel.
She was sure her face had gone beet-red, and wondered if there was a way she could explain that it was due entirely to her embarrassment, and not another symptom the doctor should concern himself with.
“May I have the room?” the doctor asked.
“Yes, of course. Whatever you need,” Nathaniel said, too quickly for her to catch his eye or gauge his mood.
“This really isn’t—”
“I’ll stay with her.” Sarah gave her a reassuring smile and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders.
Frances felt like she would pass out from the heat, but unconsciousness might be preferable to her current state. Even if he was a doctor.
Dr. Collins’ hands were cold, and rough, but the coolness was welcome. He checked her wrist, her chest, her back, and then froze at the sight of the mark on her face. Instead of asking, he spent more time than was polite examining it.
“I’ve had it since birth.” She hated people gawking at it, even if they were polite enough to hold their tongues.
“What caused it?” He sounded intrigued more than judgmental, which was nice for her, but didn’t say much about his medical skills.